by Amanda Brown
“I’m sorry. This is Miss Ortlip’s house uniform.” Pippa noticed Olivia frowning at her purple-fleeced feet. “The slippers don’t scuff her spalted Georgian maple floors.”
“And that awful army hat?”
Pippa whipped it off. “My head was cold.”
“Very well. Come downstairs. We’re just finishing an evening class.”
Olivia led Pippa to a capacious laundry where four students were ironing newspapers. Clapping her hands, Olivia announced, “May I introduce your new classmate, Lotus Polo, personal valet for Virginia Ortlip, heiress of a Dallas oil fortune and renowned wilderness explorer, with homes in Dallas, Aspen, and Manhattan.”
Olivia led Pippa to the first ironer. “You met Brenda this afternoon. As you may recall, her employers, the Pitts, own a multinational sand and gravel empire.” Too busy getting the creases out of Doones-hury, Brenda didn’t look up. Olivia proceeded to the next ironing board. “This is Cornelius. He works for Ralph and Brando, the famous clothing designers with homes in Palm Springs, Palm Beach, and Provincetown.”
“And Ibiza.” A houseboy in head-to-toe white silk and waxed arched eyebrows extended his hand. “Camo is so out, Lo.” He resumed ironing W.
“This is our dear Logan,” Olivia continued, smiling at a petite Indonesian fellow in a pale orange tuxedo. “Personal valet to Biff De-laney, dot-com trillionaire from Seattle with vacation residences in Nantucket and Cancún. One of the most eligible bachelors on the planet, I might add.”
“He’s an animal,” Logan muttered under his breath.
“Logan! No dissing employers during class time.” Olivia winked at Pippa. “After class is a different matter.” She proceeded to an elderly black woman struggling to iron the kinks out of Readers Digest. “This is Maisie. She has worked fifty years for the Dudley Stringham-mer family, which controls pork bellies futures on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. They live in a chateau on Lake Michigan and summer in Newport.”
A socially proud woman, Maisie took one look at Pippa’s camouflage pajamas and sniffed, “Nouveau.”
“What is Miss Ortlip’s favorite reading material, Lotus? I’ll purchase a copy and teach you to iron it properly.”
“Powder.” Pippa had seen a copy on Ginny’s coffee table. Alberto Tomba was on the cover.
“I had no idea she was interested in makeup.” Olivia rapped two cans of spray starch together. “Attention! I’m showing Lotus to her room. When I return, I want everything ironed perfectly.”
“That’s pretty special, ironing newspapers,” Pippa said, following Olivia up the back staircase. Even Thayne didn’t expect her overworked staff to do that.
“Attention to detail sets my school apart.” That and the astronomical tuition. Olivia led Pippa to a room on the top floor. Everything in it was yellow. “We spent all afternoon preparing this room for a visiting head of state. It was a wonderful exercise.”
“Thank you. I love yellow.”
“It was my private fitting room. Twice a year Saint Laurent flew in from Paris to hem my skirts here.” If Olivia’s lawyers performed up to spec, those days would return. She turned down the perfectly made bed. “May I be frank, Lotus? I wish you would reside with me for the entire course. It’s difficult to concentrate on studies when you must return home every night and prepare blackened impala or whatever it is Miss Ortlip eats. The additional cost would mean nothing to her.” Four thousand bucks: Olivia presumed that Ginny, like most people who sent their staff here, blew twice that every week on cocaine, Ritalin, and Lipitor.
“I’ll discuss it with her at once.”
Olivia helped herself to one of the chocolate truffles in a yellow dish. “It may not be easy. Miss Ortlip seems overly protective of you.”
Pippa became worried. “Will staying with her affect my graduation?”
“It certainly can’t help. Good night, Lotus. You’ll get a wake-up call at sunrise.”
Pippa pounced on the phone the moment Olivia left. She dialed Sheldon, who picked up because he thought Pippa’s caller ID was that of an old client in Aspen. “Thankyou thankyou for answering, Sheldon. I’ve been so worried! How are your eyebrows?”
After a long pause he said, “I wouldn’t know. At the moment I have none.”
“I had no idea you’d try to use that lighter. Well, actually, I thought you might use it but I didn’t think it would blow up in your face. There was a fifty percent chance that it wouldn’t. It must have gotten shaken up in the mail. Half of it is Mace, invented by a welder brother of the limousine driver named Mike in—”
“How may I assist you, Pippa? As you may have guessed, that piece of damp paper you sent to me is not a qualified diploma. I don’t care if Vladimir Putin himself signed it.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence. I’m now enrolled at the Mountbatten-Savoy School of Household Management in Aspen.”
“You’re going into real estate? Excellent. Aspen’s a terrific area for it.”
“Actually, it’s more a school for managing homes from the inside out. Ironing newspapers, pouring tea, things like that.”
Sheldon worked those images through to their abysmal conclusion. “You’re learning how to become a servant?” That was even worse than a clown.
“I’m trying to get a damn diploma!” Pippa filled the frigid silence with details of Olivia’s address, neatly printed on a card next to the truffles. “I owe Ginny Ortlip some money. I’ll need about ten thousand bucks, a cell phone, and some more suits. Can you get my ATM card working again? It got soaked in the Delaware River.”
“What happened to the Prada suits? Not to mention your cell phone?”
“I had to leave clown camp in a rush. Oh, I need a car.” “What for?”
“I just feel better with a car.”
“And to whom might I direct these dire necessities? Jeevesina But-leroni?”
“Lotus Polo.” It didn’t sound like an improvement. “Thank you so much, Sheldon.”
“I didn’t say I’d do it,” he fumed, hanging up.
Pippa immediately called Ginny. “Did you kill him?”
“Not yet. The swine is drinking all my beer and watching kinkajou videos. You may as well stay at Olivia’s tonight. I’ll come get my car in the morning.”
“Could you bring a few more camo pajamas? I told Olivia it was my uniform.”
Starving, Pippa finished all the chocolates. She had just gotten into bed when she heard tiny whimpers outside her door: Sub and Zero, the brown teacup poodles. They stationed themselves on either side of her pillow, like tiny clones of Pushkin. Pippa read aloud to them until they drifted asleep.
Next thing she knew her phone was ringing. “It’s six o’clock, Lapis,” Maisie said.
“The name’s Lois. I mean Lotus.” Too much Cristal. Dull headache. The dogs were gone. Where was she?
“We’re waiting for you downstairs.”
Crap! Pippa cycloned to the kitchen, where four immaculately uniformed classmates eyed her wrinkled pajamas with disdain. “Your boss allows you to be seen like that?” Brenda huffed.
“This is my tropics uniform. We just got back from Costa Rica.”
Olivia and her six teacup poodles swept in. Today she wore a red dress that Saint Laurent had hemmed back in the halcyon days. A clip-on bow rested high on her bouffant, giving her the appearance of a standard-sized poodle. “Good morning! Today we will study the art of perfect toast.” Olivia gestured to two dozen loaves of bread, six brands of butter, and a herd of jams and marmalades covering the granite island. “As you see, the variety is endless.”
Maisie looked displeased. “I don’t see any Wonder bread here, Sig-nora Villarubia-Thistleberry.”
“Correct. I wouldn’t feed that to the squirrels.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Stringhammer have been eating it every morning for the last fifty years.”
“In which case I’m sure you already know how to toast it perfectly. You are excused from class. Go to your room and review the chap
ter on Orderly Medicine Cabinets. Be careful you don’t step on my little dogs.” They were spiraling between everyone’s legs.
Maisie straightened her headdress and left. “She’s such a snob,” Cornelius the gay houseboy whispered. “Fifty years with pork bellies can really skew your outlook. What’s she even doing here?”
“Maisie is taking the Ancillary Geriatrics course.” It was a serious new source of revenue for Olivia. “And doing very well indeed. Find a serrated knife, everyone. Take a loaf. You have thirty seconds to cut it into half-inch slices.” Olivia watched as her students sawed away. “Stop!” She gathered everyone around a stainless-steel box the size of a milk crate. “This is the most advanced toaster on the market. It works on color recognition, ejecting the toast the moment it turns amber brown. This model costs three thousand dollars and looks very handsome on the counter.”
In a cultivated household, Olivia taught, melted butter must stop a half inch from the crust, otherwise it would soil the fingertips of those picking it up and shoving it into their mouths while they read the stock quotations. Olivia waited with a tape measure until each student had produced a slice of perfectly buttered toast. “Your next challenge is jam, which must go up to, but never over, one-sixteenth of an inch from the edge of the melted butter.”
Again Olivia waited until each student had finished. “Bravo, all.
Lovely work. However, your toast is ice-cold. How are you ever going to manage breakfast for twelve?” No one answered. “Practice until you run out of bread.” On the way out Olivia helped herself to a few slices.
“Is she making this up?” Pippa asked Logan. “No one butters toast to the sixteenth of an inch.”
“Don’t tell that to Olivia. She’s serious about bringing back the Gilded Age.”
Pippa practiced slicing as her classmates traded ribald stories about their employers. Cornelius’s main purpose in life was to keep Ralph and Brando’s daisy chain replenished. Brenda violently hated her employer Mr. Pitt now that he had married a woman two years younger than herself. Poor Logan was worn out keeping Biff Delaney’s fifty mistresses from running into each other on the way into or out of his boudoir. “We looked up your boss on the Web,” Cornelius called over. “Her only claim to fame was some outrageous wedding.”
Pippa’s stomach lurched. “Miss Ortlip keeps a low profile.”
“Who’s she sleeping with?”
“I have no idea.” That got heavy guffaws: every servant on the planet kept a meticulous diary of the boss’s fornications. Their retirement funds depended on it.
At nine o’clock, all convened under Olivia’s Chihuly chandelier for a review of How to Announce Callers. Between phone conversations with her private investigator, Olivia passed along all she knew about intercoms and closed-circuit television deliveries as well. “Look, class! There’s a real person outside.”
“That’s Miss Ortlip,” Pippa cried.
“Show her to the parlor, Lotus. Everyone else practice security codes.” Olivia settled in with Villeroy and Boch, Reed and Barton, Sub and Zero. “How are you today, Miss Ortlip?”
“Fine, thank you. I brought Lotus some fresh uniforms.”
“Wonderful. I know you’re anxious to go out and shoot a few reindeer, so I will come straight to the point. In my opinion Lotus should board at school for the entire course.”
Ginny was not thrilled. “What do you think, Lo?” When Pippa remained frozen, she added, “I severely need you to wax my skis.”
“I severely need that diploma,” Pippa croaked, handing back the BMW keys.
“Have it your way.” Shaking her head, Ginny left.
“Bravo, Lotus,” Olivia said after the front door slammed. Four thousand bucks in her pocket! She looked more closely at the young woman in camouflage pajamas. Lotus did not comport herself like a domestic: quite the opposite. Nevertheless Ginny gave her anything she wanted. “May I ask—” Olivia’s phone interrupted. “Mountbatten-Savoy School of Household Management. Olivia Villarubia-Thistleberry speaking.”
“This is Leigh Bowes from Las Vegas,” a woman’s voice said. “Your name has been given to me by one of my dearest friends, Dusi Damon, who said you supplied Thayne Walker with a wedding planner on an hour’s notice.”
That would be Cedric, her former handyman, an ex-marine. For an enormous fee, Olivia had slapped on a phony resume and shipped him off to that brouhaha in Dallas. To everyone’s amazement he was still there. Cedric still sent Olivia two thousand bucks a month commission for landing him the gig. “How may I help?”
“I desperately need a new majordomo with impeccable credentials.”
“We have a long waiting list,” Olivia lied.
“This is an emergency. I’ll pay you a fifty thousand finder’s fee.”
Leigh Bowes shot to the top of the nonexistent waiting list. Olivia forced herself to sound mildly bored. “Describe your requirements.”
“All-around superior household management skills. Must make perfect martinis. Above all, I do not want an attractive woman. My husband is a disgusting lecher.”
“I understand completely, Signora Bowes. My ex was the same.”
“This weekend I’m hosting a celebration with three hundred friends. They are the cream of society. The event must go perfectly. If you get me someone by then, I’ll pay an extra ten thousand.”
Olivia nearly swallowed Villeroy. However, she managed to say, “Leave your number on my Web site. Please attach a personal recommendation from Dusi Damon.” Olivia had never heard of her. She hung up. “Is something the matter, Lotus?”
“Did you say Dusi Damon?” Pippa gulped. “She’s rather bad news.”
Olivia didn’t care if she was the Antichrist. Sixty thousand dollars!
She was so blown away she could barely deliver her next lecture, History of the Fork, in the library. “Logan,” she said finally, giving up. “Prepare lunch while Maisie and I review Adult Incontinence. We’ll all meet in the dining room at one. Lotus, what are you writing back there?”
“I’m taking notes for the exam.”
Olivia’s phone rang. As she plunged into a bitter altercation with a real estate lawyer, the doorbell rang. “Get that, someone.”
Pippa went to the door. “Car for Ms. Polo,” a man said.
A blue Maserati, the exact replica of Lance’s drowned pride and joy, was parked at the curb. Damn it, that should have gone to Officer Pierce weeks ago! Sheldon had changed the license plate from HUDDLE to LOTOPO. Seething, Pippa signed for it and drove the man to the airport. She got back to school just in time for Advanced Place Setting in the dining room.
“Identify these dishes, class,” Olivia announced, picking up various pieces of china from the table.
“Main course plate. Salad plate. Consomme cup. Butter dish. Salt well. Fish plate. Bread plate. Ramekin. Sauceboat. Caviar dish.” Olivia was pleased to see that Lotus knew her away around a place setting. She pointed to an odd porcelain chalice. “And what is this?”
“Individual spoonbread dish?” Maisie guessed.
“Personal spittoon?” Logan tried.
Pippa raised her hand. “That is an eggcup, ma’am. For ostrich eggs.” Rosimund had purchased four hundred of them for the Henderson Ball.
“My God, Lotus! You must give me the name of that school in Switzerland.” If only Lotus were male, Leigh Bowes would have her majordomo by sundown! “When I say go, class, create an eighteen-piece place setting. All the dishes you need are on the sideboard. Careful! They’re antique Sevres.”
When Pippa finished first, Olivia thought she’d break into hives. She led her students to the bar, there to learn that Pippa could identify every variety of her twenty Waterford glasses. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Can you make a martini, dear?”
“I’ve been making them for my mother since I was eight years old.”
Weak-kneed, Olivia told everyone to study the Forbes 400 list until tea.
Olivia’s evening class, Advan
ced Napkin Folding, was continuously interrupted by calls from lawyers and Leigh Bowes. Around midnight Dusi Damon sent an e-mail threatening to close down the school should Olivia fail to send a household manager to Las Vegas at once. Stressed, Olivia ate half a cheesecake. She awoke at dawn feeling like a rectangle of cream cheese. She had no sooner stepped off the scale when her bank called to say her mortgage payment was overdue.
She put a bow in her bouffant and entered the kitchen with a smile. Today Olivia wore a brown wool dress with six pockets down the front. A teacup poodle nestled in each pocket, giving her the appearance of a marsupial who had just birthed sextuplets. “Good morning, class. Today we will be dusting antiques, starching collars, and drawing baths.” As she served herself a stack of crepes suzette that Cornelius had made, the doorbell rang. “Get that please, Brenda.”
Brenda ran out and returned with a large FedEx package. “For Lotus.” She threw it with unnecessary force on the table.
Everyone watched with great interest as Pippa unwrapped, and nearly dropped, her souvenir MatchMace. “Miss Ortlip occasionally likes a good cigar,” she explained, cursing Sheldon anew. He had sent ten thousand dollars cash in a plastic sandwich bag. Pippa also got a cell phone and five Chanel suits, which she didn’t even try to explain.
Olivia watched in silence. First a Maserati, now this: Ginny Ortlip would rather lose an arm than lose Lotus. Domestics of her caliber came along once in a lifetime. Barely able to concentrate, Olivia gave every student a feather duster and told them to get the cobwebs out of the banisters while she and Maisie took a few turns around the wheelchair course in the basement.
Pippa adjourned to the driveway to call Sheldon. “The Maserati arrived yesterday. I thought we had agreed to give it to Officer Pierce.”
“Couldn’t find him. He disappeared after getting fired.”
No! “For what?”
“Let’s not even go there. You needed a car and it was taking up garage space. What do you think of LOTOPO? I tried to get TORPEDO but it was taken.” Hearing no reply, he continued, “How’s servant school going?”
